


Would you, Won't you

by Mad_Merry



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, inFAMOUS: Second Son
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Family Issues, Friends to Lovers, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-10-26 01:24:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10776558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Merry/pseuds/Mad_Merry
Summary: When Delsin was eight years old, there was a boy that lived down the road.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this. In one night. That's how into it I was and it's all my bffs fault. But yeah, this was actually meant to be humorous, but it turned bittersweet (like 60% of my writing for them) and I was happy with it. (The rating might be edited unless something heavy or anything else happens in a later chapter)

When Delsin was eight years old, there was a boy that lived down the road. He moved in during the summer, Reggie holding his hand and watching as the parents unloaded the moving truck in meticulous patterns. They looked nice; the mother smiling patiently at them as they gawked and stared in their childish curiosity. The boy sat off to the side poking at the gravel of the driveway and looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, all round faced and wearing clothes just a little too big for him. Reggie had given him a nudge, already so wise and nurturing in his nature that Delsin doesn’t object when his elder brother says with soft encouragement; “Why don’t you go talk to him? I bet he could use a friend.”

So Delsin did.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” The boy doesn’t look up from his poking and prodding, fist propping against his cheek and knees covered with blue and green bandaids. His knees are bony and his legs are twiggy, as if he would always be skinny and small.

“Why are you poking the rocks?” Delsin asks, tilts on his heels and catches the mother smiling at him again as she helps the movers navigate a couch that looks leathery and comfortable.

“Bored.” The boy mutters, flicking a particular pebble away almost with distaste.

“Oh.” A pause, both now watching the way the rocks skitter off with a flick, “Do you like to climb trees?” That gets the boys attention, pointing pretty eyes towards Delsin that he won’t have a name for in the years coming.

“Never done it.” Little hands come to grab an equally skinny wrist, tugging the boy off his ledge and watching his eyes widen in confusion and apprehension. Reggie promises to watch them, Delsin’s soft features screwing into a frown when the dad stares at him with an expression his young mind can’t distinguish, but he knows it's not good.

They play until sundown, voices raw from shrieking, laughing, fresh scrapes and callouses on their hands from the bark of trees and landing on concrete. The boy’s hair shines in the sunlight, soft curls illuminated by the fading orange and Delsin decides he’s going to be friends with this boy with his too big sneakers and pretty eyes.

His mother is waiting at the door when they make it back, arms crossed as if she’d be upset but there’s a smile on her face that the other child’s mother does to him and his brother constantly. The boy seems so reluctant to go, giving a soft and shy thank you for letting him play. He looks back at him with hesitation as he goes up those few concrete stairs to his waiting mother, stopping when Delsin gives a hurried “Hey!” And he stands there, waiting. With his curls halo’d by the porch light and eyes alight with something that’s so painfully beautiful.

“What’s your name?” He grins, big and toothy with a gap at the bottom.

“Desmond.”

 

When Delsin is ten years old, he decides Desmond is his best friend. They walk to and from school together every morning, kicking rocks and cans in front of them as they talk about the power rangers and how dumb boy bands are. Sometimes Reggie trails behind them with his own bag slung over his shoulder, getting broader and bigger and older and Delsin isn’t sure he likes it. But there’s always Desmond with his soft curls and bright smile and it doesn’t matter his favorite ranger is the green one. They’ll always play pretend with Delsin and be every other power ranger beside the red one just for him, and they play on the beach and throw mud at each other. When Reggie isn’t there, they’ll hold onto one another's backpack straps in the name of safety drilled into their heads by their parents, watching older and bigger children hurry off to their own classes yearning for the day they too can ride their bikes.

Until one morning Desmond is late coming from the house, slamming the door behind him in a way Delsin has never seen before and he trudges on with a loud sniffle. The sound cuts something cold in his stomach, his feet following his friend before he can stop himself.

“Desmond? What’s the matter?” Desmond doesn’t answer, hunches his shoulders and lets out a watery cough. He doesn’t stop, keeps walking faster until Delsin is practically jogging to keep up with him. “Desmond?”

“I hate him.” He grinds and wipes at his nose with his arm, still looking down and away from the slightly smaller.

“Who?”

“My dad.” Oh. Desmond’s dad wasn’t really nice. He always looked at everyone like they were trouble, he never smiled like _his_ dad would. He didn’t emit warmth and charm with his bad jokes that made Reggie groan and Delsin grin because he thought they were the funniest thing in the world. Desmond’s dad just felt...cold. He was always telling them what to do, what not to do, how long to do it, and more than once scolded the other about something when Delsin was sitting right there until his skinny shoulders hunched and his pretty eyes fell downcast to the floor. Delsin didn’t like Mr. Miles much.

“What did he do?” Desmond has finally slowed down a little, looking up at Delsin with his big watery eyes and red nose and the look makes the smallest gut twist into something ugly and awful.

“He’s just a jerk. He’s always bossing me around, saying mean stuff. I spilled my stupid cereal and he made me feel bad. I tried to clean it up, it just slipped. I didn’t mean to.” He sniffs again, wipes at his nose and Delsin doesn’t know what else to do but wring his little arms around Desmond and hug him tight, his chin on his bony shoulder. Desmond is warm, so warm and comfortable and his shirt is soft against Delsin’s exposed arms. He lets out this funny breath before he hugs back, sniffs one more time and they stay like that for a long time.

“You’re my best friend, Des.” Delsin mutters into the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re mine too, Delsin.” He hugs him just a little tighter, just a little longer before he lets go and looks away to let him finish wiping his eyes. “We’re gonna be late.”

“Yeah, probably.” He offers a toothy grin and feels something loosen and swell when Desmond smiles back, all brilliant and the gap in his smile long gone.

 

They’re twelve when things start to change. Like, really change. Desmond’s shoes suddenly seem to fit his feet, they both get clumsy in their limbs and the power rangers aren’t that fun anymore. Reggie is finishing school and his voice has long drifted into “grown up” and it's hard to listen to. Desmond cut his hair over the summer, sheened so close his curls are long gone and Delsin wishes that it didn’t hurt somewhere in his chest. He spent their first sleep over of the summer constantly touching his head, feeling the prickles of the hairs under his palm and watching the way the other’s shoulders scrunched, laughing off his searching fingers.  “Dude, stop doing that!”

At some point they talk about girls, about Lucy Stillman with her long blonde hair and pretty blue eyes and Delsin tries to ignore the way his gut clenches in dread. It’s always just been them. He only wants it to be them. They get curious about video games and older TV shows and spend their birthday money on new skateboards that they fall off of constantly.

Something else is changing; in Desmond’s face. In his eyes and it worries Delsin the way that his voice is getting into something angry and sardonic. He’s never mean to _Delsin_ , but he carries himself differently, rolls his eyes and gets an attitude with teachers when school finally comes around. Which makes them call Bill, who shows up looking like he’s been called in for something terrible. Desmond always shows up at his house after nights like that, eyes rimmed red and his new hair cut making his face look hard but broken simultaneously. He always says the same thing, muffled into Delsin's pillow when it's his turn to play smash bros.

“I hate him.” Delsin would ask,

“Why do you hate him?” And one night, he’s quiet for a long time, listening to Mario's whoops and hollers as Delsin made him dodge and dip on the screen.

“I don’t know anymore.”

They used to share Delsin's bed during their sleepovers, hiding under the covers with a flashlight and telling stupid stories until air became needed and they’d pop up giggling and trying to be quiet. At some point they stopped, Desmond showing up equipped with a sleeping bag like a silent closing of a chapter. But, during those days he’ll let Delsin press his ear to his back and listen to his breathing, forced to be even and stuttering when something similar to a sob would make its way out.

He wished he knew why Desmond’s pain hurt so much.

Desmond gets grounded when they fall asleep and his mother comes knocking frantically on their front door to know where he is.

The same year they take advantage of their last Halloween as trick or treaters instead of dumb teenagers that hang out at the football field and do things like smoke and harass kids. Desmond is Dracula, his false fangs awkward in his mouth and face painting near white.

Delsin goes as Frankenstein to keep their theme, sprinting through the neighborhoods and roads they know so well, go to the nice old lady’s house who gives full sized candy bars to the first ten or so kids that show up. Desmond loves peanut butter cups, and Delsin loves anything with marshmallows and they trade at every house.

“I never trick or treated before I moved here,” Desmond says suddenly one day, eyes far away and still chewing on the last of his mini Reese's bag.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Dad thought it was participating in the system or something. He’s weird.”  He didn’t talk much about where he was before moving there, the skinny boy with bandaids on his legs and disappointment on his shoulders long gone. He was still skinny, but he was getting tall and Delsin was falling behind. His only comfort was how big his family was, and that he still had time. “I’m glad I came here.” And without a word, he takes hold of Delsins’ hand and leads him to the spooky maze house.

The words echo in Delsin’s mind, curled up in his bed and listening to Desmond’s soft breathing.

“I’m glad you came here too.”

 

It’s when they’re 14 when things get really bad. The hostility in the Miles household is set on high, Bill digging into his only son like dirt, driving him away farther and farther. Desmond is brimming with an energy that would make Delsin uneasy if they weren’t young and stupid and rebellious and his best friend’s anger seemed valid. They were both angry, Delsin raw around the edges with the loss of his parents, the loss of light in Reggie’s eyes and watching his brother--so dedicated to baseball and school shuffling through bills and quietly crying when he thinks he’s gone to bed. It hurts, it makes him hate the drunk driver that beelined into his parents humble little van that had as many memories as the house that their family friend Betty has to help pay for.  

He hates the world. But he has Desmond. Desmond who lets him sob into his shirt the night of the funeral, who blocks him from false condolences at school and sits with him in _their_ woods with their feet in probably dirty pond water. Desmond becomes a solid, comfortable wall, never the same as before with his own problems, hard at the corners and prickly with his words. For Delsin he’s soft, wielding and warm and letting their fingers tangle together in a way that feels more comforting than Reggie’s hugs sometimes.

They go out to the woods one day, Desmond oddly quiet as they shift their feet in the murky pond water. It’s starting to get cold, the promise of summer ending in the corners of the shade and the temperature of the air. High School was a bigger world, a scarier world with Delsin’s tiny one thrown upside down. He knows the school season is harder on Reggie, one more thing to add to his mile long list of worries and problems and Delsin wishes he could stop time to savor the moment. The other is warm next to him, flushed from their basketball game earlier that day and the silence comfortable. Bittersweet, the prospect of no longer being able to spend days at a time at one another’s houses and being let loose. Replaced with school bells and sad lunches and their nights being spent doing homework together instead of playing video games. The future is becoming something only a few steps away instead of light years in the distance, makes him wonder what will happen in the big world. 

“Des,” He starts, watching the ripples of the water around his ankles. The other hums his acknowledgment, head tipped back and the last licks of sun kissing his tanned skin.

“We’re gonna be friends forever, right?” It’s soft, curious and a little terrified of the answer. Desmond’s eyes open, pointing their pretty color towards him with something unreadable. It’s hard to remember the boy with a bright smile sometimes, only shared privately and quietly with Delsin now as the only Miles son veers into somewhere that Delsin doesn’t think he can reach him.

“Forever.”

Delsin releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Good.”

It’s the start of high school that changes everything, filled with curious glances that heat cheeks and girls giving them looks in the halls that are hard to decipher. He doesn’t know when it happens, but Desmond’s eyes make his palms sweat and his now rare smile makes his knees weak. His face is still round, his hair seeming to have never been soft and curly, always shorn so short his head is almost visible now, skin mottled with acne that they’re both facing and voices starting to crack under pressure of puberty and there was an awkwardness to everything after that god awful video in health class. Bill is making Desmond try sports and practices take up the time that was once them walking home and doing homework until dinner was called at their separate homes. It’s still just them, lingering at their lockers and being distractions to one another in every class they have whether they sit together or not, whether they get that time after school together or not. Lucy Stillman tries to get Desmond’s attention, batting her newly mascara’d lashes and she too is awkward and moving into a new part of their lives, but Delsin still gets a flash of hate every time she tries. Every time Desmond smiles and waves hi he glares over his shoulder and maybe he’d feel bad if things weren’t so confusing and messy and he didn’t know particularly why it made him so incredibly angry. At least it wasn’t his smile. The bright toothy one that it seems like only he can get out of Desmond.

“I think she likes you,” Delsin says after the fifth time Lucy walks up to their lockers and interrupts their conversation with her pretty blue eyes and giggling that makes his insides go cold. Desmond scrunches his nose, slams his locker and Delsin mindlessly bats his hand when he reaches to scratch at his cheek. He’d gotten a bad batch of acne a couple nights ago, still red and looking painful and obnoxious.

“What? Psh, no.” The denial both comforts and annoys Delsin at the same time.

“Do you like her?” A shrug. “What kind of answer is that?” It’s testy, but the other was figuring things out he didn’t want to know and Desmond’s eyes still made his legs go to jelly and it was scary.

“Uh, an honest one? Her voice is way too squeaky.” They start down the hall, sidestepping the cliques and traffic stoppers towards math and Delsin misses the day of simple multiplication. “Besides,” He starts, Delsin startled when he throws a not so skinny arm around his shoulders and makes him hunch a bit. “Who needs her when I’ve got you?”

He tries not to let the response warm his gut and his cheeks as they continue on. “You’re a dweeb.”

Later in the year, just on the cusp of halloween, someone jabs Delsin in the shoulder enough to startle him, turning to meet the eyes of a boy from his social studies class. Daniel Cross was a weird kid. That...concerning kid that rumors followed and made you anxious to be around. He wasn’t nice, locking onto Delsin the last few weeks of school as if he can detect his weakness. His unsureness of who he was with the way Desmond made his heart hammer and his breath catch.  “Sup, freak.” Delsin’s shoulders hike, heat crawling up to his face as he slowly turns, trying to ignore Desmond's’ pointed stare. Daniel was in the only class they didn’t have together, and he’d never bothered telling his best friend about the harassment.

“I’m not a freak, Daniel.”

“You sure act like one.” Teeth dig harshly into his lip, casting his eyes downwards.

“No I don’t.” He mutters weakly, scuffing his rapidly wearing sneakers against the linoleum of the school. They were getting close to getting holes, he just didn’t have the heart to add another expense of Reggie’s never shrinking list of responsibilities. It’s like his brother had aged five years in the last single one. “I’m not really up for dealing with this today, alright?” Daniels jabbing and hurtful words could be ignored. His whispering with other kids and pointing at him could be ignored. But Delsin was feeling vulnerable that day, having hooked his finger into Desmonds’ belt loop the whole way to school and finding Reggie passed out at the dinner table with papers strewn everywhere and...it being the date.

“Why? Cause your parents died today?” The words make it final, Delsin swallowing down a lump and closing his eyes when he feels Desmond finally shift behind him, having heard enough.

“Why don’t you lay off, Cross. It’s none of your business.”

“I’m making it my business, Miles.”

“Well you shouldn’t, you--” Delsin reaches back, pats at Desmond’s shoulder to make him stop with a shake of his head.

“Don’t...Des. Just don’t.”

“Yeah, listen to the orphan, “Dessy Pie. He’s a big boy, he can handle it himself.” Both of their cheeks heat in indignation for different reasons, a stroke of fire igniting in Delsin's stomach.

“I’m not an orphan!” He starts, anxiety clawing in his chest as he thinks to the way Reggie had dropped down in front of him after driving halfway across the state to get to him at the hospital, eyes red and wild and terrified. “I have--”

“Right, you have your dropout brother to take care of you.” Delsin hates the way he feels tears coming, the tired resignation fresh in his mind when his brother had withdrawn from everything he worked for and let it all go to take care of him. “Everyone sees him working at the burger joint, it’s all he’s good for.” A soft breath escapes, and suddenly Desmond is next to him instead of behind him.

“Take it _back_ , Cross.” People are starting to linger, Delsin struggling too hard to keep his hurt and aches at bay to stop his best friend from getting into the equally sized boy’s face, fingers barely able to hold onto the fabric of his shirt. The one he gave him for his thirteenth birthday, starting to stretch and wear as he grows.

“Which part? The part about his dead parents or the part about his brother being a sad excuse of a--” It happens so fast, there’s audible gasps in the hall, Daniel stumbling back and Desmond shaking his hand with a seething rage that makes his shoulders rigid and body tight. There’s a stillness, a stunned silence as the reality sinks in, chills Delsin’s spine and fills his chest with horror.

That’s when all hell breaks loose.

Daniel charges; wraps his spindly arms around Desmond and drives him into the lockers with a deafening clang, Delsin getting shoved and pushed aside as students gather in a sudden flurry of energy. The shouting turns into roars rapidly, dozens of voices giving a mantra of fight _, fight, fight!_ Ringing in his ears as he works and shoves his way through the sea of bodies to the center of the chaos where Desmond’s head clangs against the lockers painfully, sneakered feet kicking out and catching Daniel in the stomach, making him stumble and fall. He’s on him in a second, shirt fisted in his shaking hands with his once sweet face twisted and distorted into an enraged snarl.

Teachers come eventually, part the sea and tear the boys apart with alarms screaming and the two still kicking.

“What is the meaning of this!” The gym teacher shouts face beet red in his rage and exertion as the chaos calms for a moment, chests heaving.

“He went crazy!” Daniel spits, a bruise blooming at his eyebrow. “He attacked me!”

“Because you called Delsin a freak!” Desmond shouts back, his voice raw with emotion that the other knows so well in his moments of vulnerability, with the lights low and their fingers pressed together to watch in fascination. “He’s a jerk, using people’s problems against them like some kind of loser.”

“That is no excuse to attack someone, son.” Delsin's jaw works at the endearment, the way Bill used to say it with disdain and exhaustion as if the two of them were far from any sons someone would want.

“The fuck it’s not!” Desmond fights the hands under his armpits, feet screeching against the linoleum. “Let--go of me!”

“Not until you calm down and apologize. And watch your mouth.”

“I’ll apologize in hell!” He rips his arms free, stumbling forward at his own momentum and dodging another teacher’s grasp, shoving through the crowd and sprinting down the hall. Delsin’s feet carry him forward before he can think otherwise, pushing past the last of the crowd with his heart in his throat and stomach churning with dread.

“Des...Des wait! Wait up!” Teachers shout after them both, feet thudding against the pristine floors of the school and Desmond shoves the closest door open, the emergency sound going off. They run, they run until their lungs hurt and the blaring of the bell and the shouting of the teachers becomes distant sound. Then they walk, chests heaving and lungs burning as they go down the sidewalk they go every day.  They don’t stop, they don’t speak until they’re near the little shop Reggie used to take them to for ice cream.

“Des are--are you okay?” He manages between breaths, hands unable to resist touching, tentative in gripping the other’s wrist and feeling his pulse flutter against his own.

“No.” The other admits, breathing through his nose and watching the cars go by. “I’m not okay.”

“What the hell was that back there? You went totally crazy.” They ran away from school. Their stuff was in their lockers, their phones were in their lockers and Desmond’s eyes were wild. Not in the way that they were when they were younger, with glee and freedom and hope.

“I’m tired, Del.”

“What do you mean tired--”

“I mean I’m tired of everything being difficult for us! Look at what our lives are becoming!” Desmond waves in the general direction of...everything. “We’re in a town full of assholes, my dad makes me hate myself everyday I’m in his stupid house! Your brother dropped out of school because of someone elses’ mistake! All of the people we grew up with are turning into monsters and I’m tired of the world somehow deciding it’s us that should take everything! Daniel doesn’t know you, he doesn’t know your parents, or Reggie. Or us. He and everyone else doesn’t get to say shit like that. They don’t know _anything_.” He inhales sharply when he’s done, free hand coming up to massage the knuckles on the other. Delsin reaches out without thought, hates the way his chest flutters when Desmond lets him take his hand to inspect his knuckles and fingers. The skin is there split in two of the knuckles and red around the edges from his clenching. His hands are starting to get calloused, rough and fingers long.

“You could have hurt yourself really bad.” He says softly, not wanting to let go of Desmond as the way his head connected with the locker plays over and over and over. “You’re right but--I want you here. You know? It’s going to suck. They’ll _suspend_ you, man.” And Delsin doesn’t want to think of what that’s going to be like, those couple of weeks without Desmond there at his locker and in the lunchroom, always with a bag of cookies just for him. "And your dad is gonna ground you and I won't see you for a while..."

Desmond is in his face, eyes warm and his hands come up and grip Delsin’s shoulder. “Let’s run away.”

“ _What_?”

“Let’s run away! Let’s just--let’s just go, where none of this can touch us anymore and we can be whole new people! We can start over, and-and-” Delsin shakes his head, a small astonished laugh coming out.

“What? Des, we’re _fourteen_. We can’t do anything on our own.”  Although, some treacherous little part can imagine it. Can see himself running off with him only what they can carry on their backs and new opportunities in every crevice of the world. Just them. Just like it’s always been.

“We can find a way. We could do it.”

“I--” He hesitates, thinks of Reggie with his bags under his eyes and shitty retail uniform, his exhausted smile and hair rapidly getting out of hand. He can’t do that to him, not after their parents. “I’ll think about it, you know. Look at my piggy bank and stuff.. We should go home.” They’ve held hands before, Delsin a little startled by Des’ tight grip and the way he links their fingers together like Delsin is a lifeline in everything. It’s nice, squeezing back and falling into a tentative silence that isn’t right, leaving questions and unsaid words between them.

Bill is waiting for them when they get back, Delsin feeling the way Desmond shrinks into himself for just a moment before he straightens, chin held high and shoulders squared. He decides not to comment on the way his arms are trembling.

Bill points to the stairs, a come hither motion that holds no options, no outs, and Desmond looks at him for a moment with wide eyes, a shaky breath.

“I’ll call you?” Delsin has a thought; a dangerous little thought as he studies his best friends face with hesitation. He could kiss him right now. He wanted to kiss all the anger and pain Bill has given him away and make things okay for the both of them within each other and it’d be so easy to lean in and place a kiss on his best friends mouth. It’d feel right too, feel like something he was meant for from the start. Kiss him just like all those stupid movies say to, the way girls and guys alike whisper about in the bathrooms, and it’d be real and genuine and maybe Desmond would give him that big beautiful smile.

He doesn’t. He smiles, squeezes Desmond’s hand and reluctantly let’s him go, fingers hooked together for a moment more before the other drops his hand as well. “Call me.”

“Okay.”  Bill has his arm before he’s full up the stairs, slamming the door with a sound that seems to go through the whole neighborhood.

The walk back is lonely, Reggie there also and looking thoroughly pissed, tired, and beyond patience. The grounding is expected, the lecture is expected, and all Delsin can do is hang his head and think about the way Desmond had refused to let go of his hand for just a second.

The phone call never comes.

Desmond doesn’t show up to school the next day, next week, and when he goes down that familiar road to ask, Desmond’s mother’s sad smile is like a punch to the gut.

And he never sees Desmond Miles again.


	2. And I Will

Delsin is twenty four when he leans back in his chair, arms behind his head and feet placed on the grand wooden desk of his work space. The rain is falling in heavy sheets outside, subduing the already sleepy town into something muted and soft, not a soul outside of him and his manager inside the store. “Rain must be keeping people in.” She had commented as they hunched their backs while she unlocked the door, locked herself in her office more than likely to sneak in some reading. He didn’t judge her, couldn’t with the way his eyes were drooping and his mind wandered anywhere but the present. Delsin thought about _him_ , in moments of peace and quiet where nothing was there to occupy his hands, the reliable expected script of life slips from his grasp and his treacherous mind goes back to days before this. Goes back to sunny afternoons, cool water on bare feet and heads on shoulders. Back when things were easy, clear as day and painless.

It’s been ten years since Desmond Miles evaporated from his life, ten years since Delsin felt as if a piece of him had been torn away that same day, ten years since he ran home and sobbed into his brother’s work uniform, ten years since rumors circulated in their tiny town of where the boy who stuck with Delsin had gone. It’s been six years since Delsin stopped walking up that familiar road with tentative hope in his heart that Des would be there, sitting on his front steps with his eyes towards the sky and multi-colored bandaids on his legs. By then, he had no choice but to leave the house and the boy who once resided in it as graduation rounded the corner and the reality of it all came crashing into his numb heart. It’s been two years since he returned from college, some stupid little part of him unable to resist walking up that road just to see. Just to check and remind himself before that hope ate him alive, to ground himself in the fact he was never going to see his best friend again.

It’s been ten years, and Desmond has never been off his mind. He should be, he used to scold himself as he tried to stubbornly squash the hurt and focus on his exams, if he hasn’t contacted you now, you may as well let it go.

But then, a tinier voice would say; You could have gone with him. You could have said yes. You could have held onto his hand but you didn’t.

And he would be tossed into a never-ending back and forth with himself that pushed him farther into melancholy and yearning for what was gone. No amount of logic would entirely silence that little voice as his pain and betrayal scabbed over into a scar that could be picked at but never quite opened. _You could have gone with him._  And that would veer into wondering what had happened to him, if he was alright, if he was happy wherever he was. Did he think of Delsin in the slightest? Or was he just a flickering memory, that kid he used to play with in their sleepy town who held his hand and stuck by his side in everything? The idea of not leaving a mark in Desmond’s mind stung. Thinking of all the looks and words they exchanged, all of the secrets they shared under the shade of the trees, shared in the breath between them. The emotions in those pretty brown eyes, the way they made a younger him weak and breathless.

_I’ll call you?_

_Call me._

Surely that wasn’t all nothing in their blooming adulthood.

 He’s stocking the shelves when he hears the service bell on the door, surprised that someone braved the rain to make the trip to the little shop and swiftly set his things down to greet them. The stranger looks just on the verge of soaked, hands coming to lift his white and red hood from his head and shake it, revealing tightly cropped brown hair. “Can I help you?” Delsin prompts, watching as the man startles and turns towards him with wide, honey colored eyes. He says nothing, the lull of the rain making the silence awkward as they stand there, staring one another down before the man’s eyes light up, mouth falling open into a gape.

“I’ll be damned.” The stranger murmurs, voice soft and awestruck in something almost affectionate.

“You didn’t...really answer my question.” There’s another lapse in silence, the sound of the beating rain adding an atmosphere of somber, eyes searching Delsin’s face for something he can’t decipher,

“You don’t recognize me?” A shake of the employee's head, slowing down his inspection to reach into his mind for someone so broad, face so angular and lips scarred. But nothing, the man in front of him still waiting, still urging quietly with his wide, pretty eyes and--

Wide...pretty eyes. A sharp inhale, that dirty little fuck known as hope clawing it’s way through his chest and into his throat as he forces himself to slow down more. Take in the slope of the mans nose, the curve of his jaw, and the sudden wave of familiarity. Emotions flare, breaths come short as he steps closer, fingers itching to touch and probe but instead he forces out,

“Des?” The smile grows, turns radiant and god it is, the smile is all it takes.

“Hey, Del. Long time no see.”

“Oh my god,” It escapes, soft and stunned as Desmond’s smile stays and Delsin had forgotten how beautiful that smile was and he can’t stop himself from closing those few feet between them and wrapping his arms around his best friends’ neck, hugging him close and tight and just a little desperate. “Oh my god.” He could sob when the others’ fingers tangle into the back of his shirt and hold him, pressing him close until he can feel the warmth of Desmond’’s middle, feel the dampness of his jacket against his nose and it’s  not quite what his memory held. It’s still Desmond with his warmth, but he doesn’t smell like the discount detergent his mother adored, or something murky from the forest. He smells like pine and rain and acrid like smoke and it’s different but it fits him so well that Delsin doesn’t think he could ever let go.

But he does, pulls back and tries to repress his thrill when at first the other resists, takes hold of his forearms and they stand there taking each other in as if to fill all the gaps their separation had given them.

“Where have you been?” It escapes before he can grip it between his fingers, raw at the corners and just a little thick with emotion as everything, every worry and wonder comes to the forefront of his mind, with Desmond standing there real and solid and--his smile is softer this time, drawing his attention to the scar that cuts the other’s lip, still pink and new, fingers twitching to reach up and touch it.

He watches it move when Desmond speaks, wonders where it came from and the tales behind it. “It’s a long story."

“I’ve got time.”

They go to a little cafe not far from the shop, shoulders hunched and jogging through the rain. Delsin could almost feel the way they had done it so many years ago, laughing and trying to catch drops in their mouth and returning home soaked to the bone.

“So how’s Reggie?” Desmond starts as soon as they're in the safety of a cozy, comfortable booth with their drinks between them. Mocha for Delsin, drizzled with chocolate and creamed until the bitter was almost gone. Americano for Des, black and lightly sugared. He wonders when he started drinking coffee, how long it took him to adjust to the bitterness and find what he liked. The melancholy seems to always make itself known, probing at his mind as he realizes the last time they had tried something together they had been thirteen.

“He’s good, he’s good. Got promoted a couple months ago.”

“Really. What’s he doing?”

“Police work. _Sheriff_ Rowe now.” It had never been what Reggie wanted, but he’d been tired of the burger joint, of the heat and chaos and was desperate to get out of it when he got the recommendation.  Anything sounded more appealing than grease and fries and smelling like he’d bathed in oil when he got home. So he did the training, took the tests, smiled at his co-workers and instructors and dedicated his time to it at the promise of breaching minimum wage.  He didn’t like being an officer, but it paid the bills and he molded to the role well. He still couldn’t look at a burger without going a little green, though. “How are you parents?”

“Split.” Desmond says it so matter-of-factly, his friendliness leaking out to leave a glimmer of the boy with hard jagged edges and anger that had never properly found an outlet. He takes a sip from his cup, purses his lips in consideration before he sets it down almost purposefully.

“What?”

“Yeah. Mom got tired of Bill’s shit. Divorced when I turned seventeen. Didn’t tell me though until I was almost done with school, since I was away.” Three years. Three years after he disappeared without so much as a goodbye call. Delsin hadn’t been there to cushion the blow, hadn’t been there for any of the problems and tribulations that came with something like divorce. “She’s doing better though. She’s been seeing this guy from some Forty-plus dating site.” Good. Clara Miles had always been a good woman; it was clear who Desmond got his sweetness and compassion from the moment you met her. Sometimes Delsin regrets not going to see her, but his pain had throbbed so terribly and the betrayal had been fresh. He’d blamed a lot of people for what happened.

“You said away. Where were you?” _Why didn’t you call me. Why didn’t you write a letter. Why and how did you disappear as if you never existed_. None of it leaves though, he clasps his hands in his lap to keep himself from reaching out to Desmond’s.

“Military school.”

“You went to _military school_?”

“Yeah. Dear old dad had been teetering on whether to apply me or not. He got the call from the principle after we ran off and--well, you know the rest.” He scoffs, takes his cup to pick at the edge of it with fascination.  “He had to suck up pretty hard to get me in halfway through the year. Made me pack my bags that night, made it a 'father and son punishment road trip.’ oodles of fun.” Military School. Desmond had been carted off to _military school_ ; who knows how far from everything he knew in the name of drill routines, of right handed discipline and getting what made him _him_ screamed out of him. “I didn’t really have any college plans, so they stationed me at a base in Texas. But I kind of--” He seems to falter, tongue darting out to lick his lips as he considers his words. “Quit. I guess is the best way to put it. Quit when I was about twenty one and ran off to New York.”

There’s a question in Delsin’s throat, dangerous and accusatory that he manages just barely to hold back by swallowing it along with scalding coffee. _Why didn’t you come back here?_ But because it seems to be a theme for him to bite his tongue on closure, miss every opportunity. He asks instead;

“What was New York like?” And Desmond tells him. Tells him about the soaring buildings and how the city really doesn’t sleep, how people were out and partying when he got off work in the late hours. The hundreds of different people, the different food, the constant noise, and how at night it was the most gorgeous place to be. He tells him the bads too, creepy people, shitty apartments, expensive _and_ shitty apartments, but overall the experience had been something he treasured. He tells him about Clay; roommate turned friend who showed him how to make it in the city, who was kind of weird and neurotic but was still sharp witted and friendly. Tells him about Shaun and Rebecca and the funky little group he had collected. He tries to ignore his jealous throb.

In turn Delsin tells him about the end of high school, the little bits of drama, who’s where, who married who, who had kids and who didn’t. It makes him realize how much has changed in reality, how many people did the same thing as Desmond under different circumstances. Left for school, got married and moved to the city to make money. Stayed here, to have families or maintain businesses that were somehow still going. Though scarce they were.

And then it comes up. “Whatever happened to Daniel?”

“Cross?” Delsin prompts, swirls the last bit of his coffee and tries not to watch how Desmond’s fingers tap against the table in a rhythmic tic. That’s new.

“Yeah.” He considers, quiet on whether to go far or short.

“He got suspended like me. Like you would have.” Which had been good and bad. After Delsin found out about Desmond he had been livid, sight tinged in red and pain and ready to repeat the process his best friend had started every time he saw the other student. His hostility and anger must have been enough, because Daniel never got close to him again until graduation. Which according to spiteful, smug teachers, the blond had barely made it as it was.

He hadn’t looked Del in the eye, holding his cap and looking thoroughly uncomfortable when he said. “No hard feelings, right?” And he hadn’t graced him with an answer. Maybe he should have, to settle whatever was in Daniel’s mind that he understood now they were all just children and sometimes children were cruel and things happened. He’d still been a child compared to now, the anger gone but the longing and loneliness on that stage had been staggering.

“Where is he now?”

“Rehab. His dad had him tied in with drugs and stuff.” Desmond doesn’t look too shocked, purses the scarred skin of his lip with eyes distant and Delsin wonders briefly, with great fear, if the other had gotten tied into something too.

“That’s too bad. Figured a late apology was better than nothing. Hope he’s doing alright.” Thankfully they change the subject, go into college and experiences and oddness of it all. He tells him about Abigail, about Eugene, and all the interesting people he met on-campus and that college really was as weird as everyone said so.

 They’re getting ready to leave when some words just can’t be ignored anymore, the rain having waned to a steady drizzle instead of aggressive and heavy sheets. There’s an awkward air around them, clumsy and uncertain on where to go after this, after catching up and trading stories on what had been going on while they were out of each other's lives. It had felt good; pulling smiles from Desmond again and telling him about his own new found friend’s shenanigans, the shop mishaps and the drama that still circulates within the town. It had been natural, it had been nice. But not how they used to be. Questions arose. Personal ones, probing ones that Delsin was terrified to ask in case Desmond disappeared again. “How long are you going to be in town?” He tries not to watch Desmond’s reaction, glancing at him in the corner of his eye as they stroll back to the still ghost-like shop.

“Haven’t decided yet.” The hesitation in the other’s voice both fills Delsin with hope and crushes it at the same moment. “I’m staying at a motel not far from here, since you know. Mom moved.”

“Yeah.” There it was again, that damned awkward silence that left them not able to entirely look at one another and Delsin wonders how they pulled it off back then. Seeing each other every day had been part of it, no secrets, no uncertainty in who they were to each other. “So I guess I’ll…” Delsin starts, unsure of what to say, what to ask, how to ask what he wants to.

“Actually, I’d really like if we could--you know. Hang out more. Keep catching up.” A silent _please_ was hanging in the air, but it was left unsaid as Desmond smiled, that new scar hitching up with him and it just reminds Delsin he doesn’t know this man in front of him at all. He doesn’t know where the scar came from, doesn’t know this Clay character. But he wants to. That selfish little part of him doesn’t want to let Desmond go just yet, doesn’t want to lose hope that his boy is in there.

 “I’d really like that, too.”

* * *

 

 Delsin has to give Reggie credit that he doesn’t flinch when he slams the door to his apartment, nor does he look up from his phone when the younger Rowe marches into his kitchen with an almost breathless “I need a drink.”

“Hello to you too.” He finally calls when his little brother has already started rifling through his cabinets and fridge for something hard. “You know, you have your own place. _And_ an I.D that you can purchase alcohol with.”

“Have you opened that nice wine you got for your promotion yet?”

“No. Go ahead.” Delsin doesn’t mention that he already has the corkscrew in the bottle, pulling it almost violently and filling one of the like-- _three_ nice glasses Reggie has. He doesn’t stop drinking until the glass is half empty, taking a deep breath as he braces his hands against the counter, mind skirting back to soft golden eyes and hair still too short. Too damn short, why does he keep it like that?

“What’s got you so worked up?” The younger looks up from staring at the deep red in his glass towards his brother, and it has to be the meeting that makes him see how much his brother has changed too. How much REggie’s aged and matured from that broken twenty year old that had been desperately trying to take care of him.

“Guess who’s in town.” A shrug of shoulders, attention finally torn away from his phone.

“I don’t know, Abigail?”

“You _want_ it to be Abigail.” Reggie coughs into his fist at the accusation, and if Delsin weren’t in such a state he’d latch onto that and dig into his brother.

“Just tell me, man.”

“Desmond.” The name escapes him so easily, feels familiar and comforting on his tongue in a way a name shouldn’t be. But there it is, easy to say and filling his chest with emotions both conflicted and fuzzy. Reggie’s eyes widen, mouth parting in surprise.

“Desmond _Miles_? That kid you were--friends with?” Delsin appreciates the way his brother dodges around what he had told him in his tears and hysteria when he was fourteen, begging his brother to somehow fix it all.

 “ _Yes_ , that kid I was friends with. He just showed up! Out of nowhere and Reg I almost didn’t recognize him.” But at the same time, the familiarity was there in a way that Delsin had never shared with anyone else. All it had taken was that damn smile, that beautiful smile and golden eyes and he knew. “He’s kept his hair short and he’s got a scar on his face and he was good looking when we were kids but now he’s--” Incredible, grown into himself and exuding something new that draws him right back in, but...there’s a wall between them. An emotional barrier that had never had an opportunity to develop before..  “So _different_.” Reggie had been blessedly quiet during his rant, setting the phone down and coming to a stand, leaning on the counter across from him.

“It _has_ been ten years.” That it has. And Delsin isn’t exactly the same little boy with a cracking voice and a world revolving around his best friend and basic homework. He’d grown, changed and spread out in his own ways. Desmond’s way just..took him farther away. Partially not on his own accord. Still. “There’s no way to make up for it but, how long is he in town?”

“He said he hasn’t decided yet.” Reggie pauses and snatches his glass, Delsin waving him off as his urge to drink wavers into non-existence.

“Well...take the time to relearn him. You guys were friends for a reason.” He takes a mouthful of the wine, purses his lips as he looks at the glass in consideration. “He came back for _something_.”

* * *

 

It’s a week into Desmond’s reappearance that they actually meet up, a cowardice game of who text firsts and what do I say making the already awkward air grow into something bizarre. Until Desmond requests a walk around, a means of familiarizing himself and seeing what’s changed. So they do. They meet at Delsin’s apartment, exchanging warm and awkward smiles that feel off on his face, but he can’t deny the thrill in his stomach in seeing that this was real. Desmond was standing there with the sun against his too closely cut hair and clean white hoodie. He remembers the black one he used to always wear, worn thin and long and ratty but never ever abandoned. He wonders where it went.

They do walk, they walk past the old houses who many have new owners that don't recognize them, they walk the path they used to take for school every morning, the concrete seeming smaller than it had for their young clumsy legs. They turn back right before they go to the school, which hasn’t changed much on the outside. So they walk back, walk past their houses and Desmond bumps him in the shoulder side stepping a biker, and it’s familiar and foreign as they keep going all the way to where the diner used to be.

“Diner’s gone, huh?” Desmond asks as they gaze ahead at the now busy gas station, the only trace left of the diner being the ghost of memory. No more wide expansive windows, no more outdoor seating with red and white umbrella’s for the summer season. No more jukebox, and no more trying to steal each other’s cherries of their hard earned sundaes.

“Yeah. Owner couldn’t keep up anymore and the kids didn’t want it.”

“That sucks.” There’s something odd in his tone, bittersweet and distant that maybe is something Delsin shouldn’t press on right now. For the hell of it they go inside the gas station and end up getting ice cream sandwiches, eating them on the way they came in a half-hearted attempt at nostalgia talking about nothing in particular and bumping one another as they walk. It seals a gash in Delsin's chest, leaves a warm spot that won’t abide until they say goodbye, since Delsin has to work. The promises to meet up again are as clumsy as everything else.

 It’s week three when Delsin actually looks at Desmond, watches him take off the white hoodie as the heat starts to make its way through the town, the forecast promising a proper beginning to summer and--

“Jesus.” It escapes before he can stop it, the other looking at him confused and a little self conscious. “Your tattoo,” He continues, eyes going over the intricate but sharp lines of the design as they start at Desmond's’ wrist and crawl up his forearm, his bicep, and disappearing into the fabric of his shirt.  “It goes on forever.” But that wasn’t all he was looking at; he couldn’t help but notice the flat of Desmonds’ stomach, the curve of his shoulders and overall difference of him. He was still lean, probably always would be due to his genes and high metabolism, but military school had layered on muscle, gave his broad shoulders volume and his arms definition that hadn’t been there back in highschool. Des grins at him, not quite the same open and beautiful one from their reunion, but it still made his insides flip and roll as the other looks away to examine his arm.

“Like it? I got it a little before I left texas.”

“It’s...alot.” There’s a face in there, behind all the sharp lines and deep dark black, the curve of what he assumes is the mouth looking like a smirk of all things. It’s so new, so bold, but it fits the other so well it makes too much sense. “But I like it.”

 It’s week five, a month in and Desmond still hasn’t said when he’ll be leaving, if he’s leaving at all and Delsin is too afraid to ask. Their hanging out has increased in frequency, the first hesitant meeting melting out of consciousness and into natural ease that comes as they grow to understand one another again. Desmond still hates mushrooms, refuses to touch them even in his twenties. Delsin finds out the scar is from a bar-fight when he first started working in some seedy underground place where he at least was tipped really well. Delsin still loves bands that lost their luster years ago, and still pouts when Desmond teases him about his obsession with Nirvana when they were younger. It’s easy, and fun, but it’s still not...right.

“So I have a question.” His best friend asks, tosses him the basketball and it’s already hot from the sun, Delsin learning the tattoo winds and curls it’s way to the joint of Desmond’s shoulder. “You said you went to college, in Seattle. Why’d you come back?” His rebuttal of why did you? Is on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it to shrug, getting into his stance to start dribbling the ball. That was one thing he couldn’t get out of his friend, no matter how gently he prodded Desmond would shrug. Would scramble to put walls up that once upon a time would never be considered for Delsin. It hurts, somewhere in his chest that the other doesn’t think he can trust him with such a big gap in his life. He only knows the face value. Only knows the where and what’s, not the whys.

“Guess I just felt like coming home.” He had love Seattle; had made friends and memories and experiences there with it’s gloomy beauty. He could have been great there, probably. Could have lived as a freelancer with a barista position and let himself mold into a citizen there. Reggie encouraged him to, said he had the opportunity and he should take it. He’d been so close, so damn close to closing the metaphorical book on this part of his life. Full of what-ifs and childhood longing. He spares a glance at Desmond, feels himself falter when he sees those pretty eyes glazed and far off before they snap back in place. He doesn’t say anything, just stands there and swipes the ball when Delsin tries to take the shot.

“Yeah. Me too.” It clenches his heart, makes him miss his swipe and run into Desmond almost full speed and make them topple to the hot asphalt of the sad little basketball court.

 It’s an especially hot Saturday when Desmond texts him, says they’re going to do something different that day and Delsin has always known a vague Desmond is a trouble-making Desmond. He was never a bush-beater, he said what he thought when they were children and was painfully honest. So when he skirted, when he hid things, the slight shorter had learned to look for signs that something was amiss. Sometimes, it was a good thing. A surprise, a good natured prank. Other times, it was something about Bill. ‘Can I come over’ was a way of saying ‘Bill is being a fuck again can I hide’. So when he gets a message that all it says is;  
  
_Wear crappy clothes_ , Delsin is a little entitled to be uncertain.

 “Where are we going?” He asks after they’ve walked that familiar path up the road, passed houses they knew so well but were now repainted, redecorated, and new children were playing in the yards. It was bizarre; living somewhere so long you can recognize everything even when it’s so different. The roads they used to walk had been reset long ago, still black and fresh and newly painted. Desmond’s back isn’t the same though, even if his gate is the same. Long slow strides, his arms just barely swinging at his sides without him even noticing. The more time they spent together, the more he saw his friend. Altered, repainted, but still Desmond.

“You’ll see.”

He’s not sure what to say when they start walking into the overgrown brush of the woods, sighing in relief when the shadows of the trees take the heat off of his back, taking in the rough feeling of tree bark on his fingers when he uses one to support himself. The woods have aged along with them; the landmarks they used to use to navigate the winds and turns of nature are long gone, but the smells and sounds and colors are all the same, throw Delsin back to the summers they spent doing this. Desmond hasn’t said much, throws a look back to make sure the other is following,offers a smile that makes Delsin smile back automatically.

“Not much farther, I think.”

“You think?” He half teases and half demands as the other finally stops, just in time for Delsin to get caught by a root and feel his best friend’s hand close around his bicep before he can do more than stumble. “We played here for years and you think we’re on the right track?” Desmond barks a laugh, lets him go and steps back.

“Gimme a break, I was in the concrete jungle remember?”

“Ohh lost your grit, city boy?”

“Hardy har har. What do you know, we’re here.” A purposeful shove of brush, and there was the pond. Not just a pond, their pond, in their woods, where they shared so many secrets and thoughts, where they’d swing their legs in probably not that clean water and bask in the warmth of whatever sun made it through the trees. Where Desmond made a promise that Delsin wasn’t proud enough to admit kept him awake a lot of nights after. The sight of it, the memories of it, take his breath away as Desmond turns around, arms out and it’s so bizarre. Like meeting two time points, because present Des didn’t quite fit there, where skinny kids messed around and shared their lives. They were not those kids anymore, the pond didn’t look as big as it had felt like.

“See? Where’d all that faith go, Del?” The question, meant to be jovial, feels like another acknowledgement of all their differences, of missing so much in one another’s lives, because Desmond’s smile has never been as open as it had been in their reunion, looking away when the other doesn’t give an answer. “I was thinking about it the other night, thought it’d be worth the try to find it.”

Delsin clears his throat, tries to put on a grin as he crosses his arms and steps towards the pond, to the edge they sat at over and over with their legs in the water. “Well you did it. I remember it being bigger, though.”

“Yeah, me too.” There’s that awkward silence again, the thing he thought they’d at least eliminated, standing next to each other but feeling like they were eons apart, that they’d always be that way now. They felt too different now, couldn’t go back to how they were, and that realization takes a lot out of Delsin, keeps his eyes trained on the water and wishes he could just say everything he needs to say. But he doesn’t, just shifts in place and tries to pretend he doesn’t want Desmond to say something. To say everything.

“You got your phone?” That gets a frown, changes his focus to the slightly taller with a puzzled rise of his brow.

“No, these pants don’t have pockets.”

“Okay, good.” Before Delsin can ask why, there’s a hand on his back, gentle and warm and fingers sprawled against the center, a new touch compared to the familiar bumps and punches that they had always done their whole lives.

And then the bastard shoves him into the water.

When he comes up sputtering, pushing his hair out of his face with bubbled curses, Desmond is laughing so hard he’s bent over. Delsin struggles with not laughing along, his annoyance being enough for him to stand up in the water, looking like a drowned rat with his hair stuck to his head and his baggy clothes drooping from the weight of the water.

“Oh you think this is funny?” Desmond wheezes, looks at him with his eyes crinkled and wet with tears before he drops his head again and keeps laughing. Delsin takes the opportunity as he sees it, closes his fingers around the fabric of his friend’s shirt and yanks, Desmond losing his balance and stumbling right into the water with a splash. He comes up with a vengeance, scrambles into the shallow water and tackles Delsin down with a litany of curses. They wrestle, tug, and roll until they’re both soaking wet, murky and overall _disgusting_ , but they’re laughing. Desmond throws his head back at one point, and Delsin’s stomach twists at the light in his eyes and the openness there just for a moment.

 It’s month three when Delsin hugs his pillow, on his back, staring at his ceiling as he carries into a state of conflict that reminds him too much of puberty. He and Desmond had gone out for drinks, innocent enough and going to the sad shabby bar in their town that only served local beer and shotty whiskey. They’d been talking about life, about goals and the end result of everything and Desmond had said with hesitancy that he started looking for a job. It almost made him choke on his drink, the implication and the meaningful way Desmond had taken a mouthful of his beer without fully looking at Delsin. He was staying. The details weren’t set, left out in the open but the main goal was in place. Desmond was going to stay there, in the sleepy town and it’s tiny shops and stay with him. He swallows his drink hard, ignoring the pain in his chest as he says with a lightness he didn’t know he had;

“Oh, cool.”

Ever since the day in the pond, the rift between them had been closing. Desmond smiled easier, brighter, let himself be himself instead of trying to be the old Des. His edges were still hard when Delsin pushed, some things that still lingered in his mind were left alone, and were probably best left alone. But it was alright; things are good. Really good. So good, it’s easy to remember the way his friend had once made his legs go to jelly, made his palms sweat and made his young mind screech to a halt with just a look. First, all the changes had felt wrong. The tattoo, the scar, the broadness of his friend’s shoulders. They were too different to be anything than an observation of how much he’d missed. He’d recognized he was handsome, had grown into himself well and built a confidence for himself with the way he looked, how he carried himself. Now though it--it made his stomach flip, his face warm up, and everything else that felt like his head betraying him. He sighs and turns onto his side, stares at his wall now instead of sleeping, even though he had a long shift tomorrow. It wasn’t as confusing as it had been when he was young and curious and emotionally fragile with loss and stress. He’d figured out a lot about himself in college and the couple of years after.

But it was Desmond he was thinking about, letting his eyes linger on, the boy--the _man_ who he’d spent years of his life with and saw him at his absolute worst. He’d seen the acne, the cracking voice and everything awkward about growing up, saw him transform from that boy with twiggy legs into a young man brimming with directionless anger before he was pulled away. The guy who not long ago, he didn’t even recognize outside of his bright smile and he’d been terrified he’d never understand again. It didn’t feel right, to have that same thought that he had let go of along with his hand so long ago. They weren’t kids anymore, when infatuations and skirting crushes were the norm and it was easy to brush off things like that as curiosity and seeking out safety.

He shoves his face into his pillow and closes his eyes. That just wasn’t a line he was willing to cross.

It’s month five when they actually have dinner together for the first time, Desmond offering to bring the food if Delsin provided the wine that neither of them liked to drink much, but the liquor store didn’t have many options outside of that and beer. It’s starting to cool down, well into September and his best friend’s hair is growing out. He sees the ghost of those curls that he had mourned so horribly way back when. He works at the bar now, the owner taking Delsin’s word that he was a good worker, liked the other enough to trust him and Desmond does not disappoint. It’s hard to think of a time when he couldn’t text Desmond, get himself out of his apartment after work and go do..whatever. It’s getting too cool for the pond now, but basketball is still a regular and anything else they can think to do as they talk and joke as if there wasn’t ten years between them.

“I got dessert, because regular red sucks.” Delsin says when he opens the door, takes the plastic bag full of hot food that frankly, he doesn’t want to know where Desmond managed to find a place for such a thing and also somehow kept it hot.

“That’s fine. Hope you like Thai.”

“Love it.”

They set up the spread in Delsin’s den, get comfortable on the couch and find a way to balance their coffee mugs full of wine on the leather and hold their take-out boxes simultaneously, fall easily into conversation about things going around town, about how Reggie is doing as Sheriff, of the updates their friends now so far away give them. It feels good, has a nature to their relationship that’s always been there just...grown up now. No longer trying to be the old pair of themselves and more about the now. It’s different and the same, but in a good sort of way instead of grasping at thin strings for familiarity and something that made sense. Their inside jokes change, they talk about life alot easier now, about all the embarrassing things that happened in their tweens and the awful phases. They clear through the food and bottle of wine with ease, setting everything aside to instead halfway lean on each other and keep talking. Along the lines, Desmond asks whatever happened to Lucy Stillman with clumsy attempts at flirtation and big blue eyes.

“Dunno. She left after she got a big internship with a high brow company.” The other recalls his hot hatred of the blonde girl, for no other reason than his own defensiveness over something that frankly, wouldn’t have happened in the first place. But he’d been young. They’d all been young, and she was not immune to crushes either. “She had such a big crush on you.” Desmond snorts, adjusts himself so his arm is over the couch and Delsin is practically in his armpit. “Don’t laugh! It’s true. Remember? She came by our lockers like every day.”

“That doesn’t mean she had a crush on me.”

“Oh my god, you’re such a dunce. Of course it means she had a crush on you. She tried to get your attention all the time.” Delsin cranes his neck to grin at his friend, surprised to see a soft amused smile there. And yet Desmond had never given it to her besides smiles and hellos. _Who needs her when I have you?_

“Yeah, well. She never really got my attention.” something about the way Desmond says that, his stare steady on Delsin, makes his stomach give a flip. And before he does something stupid like ask who did and get himself disappointed, he laughs and sits up so that he’s not plastered against him anymore. The hum of the t.v fills the now awkward silence, Del deciding maybe now was the time to clean up a little. His friend would want to go home soon enough, once they both let the wine get through their system, and Delsin would lie awake again thinking of all the new treacherous what ifs in his life. But before he can finish gathering their plastic utensils and containers, Desmond speaks up again. Soft, hesitant, and that alone makes him stop from sheer dread.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” leaves Delsin before he can think otherwise, hesitantly turning his focus back to his best friend, but not quite looking him in the eye. He’s afraid of what he’ll say, what he wants to dispel among all the information he refuses to give.

“Don’t laugh but, back in high school...I was pretty convinced I was in love with you.” Delsin’s heart stops, then starts up again running high and leaving him breathless as he gapes at Desmond. All the times they held hands, rested their heads on each other’s shoulders, the closeness and sincerity. He almost wants to ask when. Was it the same moment he made Delsin’s stomach start to flutter? Made his legs weak and made him so defensive and afraid someone would catch his gaze before he ever grew the stupid courage to say something? _Let’s run away together. Just you and me._ But there’s an anger there too, one that bubbles and boils until it goes over. Hot and impulsive and the questions he’s chosen to ignore coming to the forefront of his mind.

“No.” He says, at first not knowing what he means by that as Desmond’s face sparks with confusion, leaning back when Delsin stands up, fists clenched at his side. “No, you don’t--you don’t get to say that. You don’t get to disappear for ten years, come back into my life and then say you were in love with me! That’s bullshit!” Something in Desmond’s eyes snap to that familiar anger, the boy who hated his father and the plans he had for him. It twists his features, hardens his face as he too stands so that they're facing one another. 

“What are you talking about?! I just thought I could be honest with you--

“You don’t get to say that after leaving me like you did!”

“Did you block out the part where I said it wasn’t my choice when I left? Bill packed me up that night and took me, remember?”

 “Then why didn’t you come back when you had the chance? Why didn’t you come home instead of going to Texas? Why did you go to New York and dick off and meet your weird friends and fuck around in clubs? Why did you decide now, when everything was fine and I was over it to--”

“Because I missed you alright?!” Desmond erupts, his voice ricocheting on the thin walls of Delsin's apartment and making him flinch, silencing his onslaught as the other continued. “I never stopped missing you! I fought my dad the whole fucking way to the school, I cried myself to sleep the first week because I knew you’d wonder where I went. I tried to write, I tried to call, I tried to do all this stuff just to let you know it wasn’t my fault and that I didn’t just leave you!” There’s a bout of silence as they both calm, the slightly tallers’ voice low and thick with emotion as he continues. “I tried to call your house, after my parent’s divorced. The line said that number didn’t exist anymore and I--I figured Reggie had gotten sick of the town and finally moved you. We were graduating by then and I figured you wouldn’t be there. You always talked about art, about how you’d want to go somewhere like a big city for school so I stationed myself in Texas. I had nowhere else to go.” No one else to go to. “I went to New York because I didn’t know what else to do. I wanted to to try and figure out what I was doing with my life but no matter what I did you were always on my fucking mind because I missed you, alright? I wanted to see you again. I just didn’t want to come back home if _you_ weren’t here.”

The silence after is deafening, tension thick between them and a lump steadily growing in Delsin’s throat. So that was it. It was all out in the open; Desmond drifted because he was afraid to come back and not find him there. After they’d been separated so long, after their experiences had been so different. Desmond never stopped thinking about him, just like Delsin had never stopped hoping he would come back and be sitting on his parents porch steps. All the way until they too moved into a smaller house and left the one with all memories behind.

“Why did you come back now?” He asks softly, after the silence gets to be too much, and he’s never seen so much exhaustion and emotion in Desmond’s eyes.

“Because I was desperate enough to try.”

Standing there, with what feels like miles and miles of distance between them, Delsin gets that treacherous little thought again. The one that he squashed as a boy, tried to shove back as an adult, meeting Desmond’s always such pretty eyes and feeling it rise in his stomach. He could kiss him. He could kiss his best friend and he knows now that he sure as hell can’t fix every single problem with it. There’s too much hurt this time. Some inflicted on each other, some issues that were left to rot and never cared for properly. They're grown men now with the days of simplicity of life long gone. A kiss won’t fix everything, but it doesn’t qualm the want in his stomach, the overflowing amount of emotion and vulnerability. He could kiss Desmond instead of backing away, instead of letting go of his hand and watching him leave with a rock in his heart and worries echoing in his mind. 

He's tired of letting things go. He moves forward before the logical part of his mind can get a hold of him, presses his lips to Desmond's and closes his eyes. There's a terrifying moment of stillness, where his best friend doesn't make a single move--then it all comes forward in one big swoop, Desmond's hands gripping at the back of his shirt like a life line, kissing Delsin back with an urgency that pulls them into a heated exchange. He was right, the kiss doesn't fix everything in a big dramatic crack and collapse of all their problems, but it does fill his chest with content, feels like a weight was taken off of his heart. Desmond is soft, warm, and Delsin tangles his hands in his blessedly grown out hair, decides right then he's never letting the other put clippers near his head ever again. They don't pull apart until air absolutely becomes necessary. Even then, they meet halfway in a softer kiss, Desmond resting his forehead against Delsin's as he sighs. "I'm sorry." He says, after they've caught their breath and a calm has settled over them both. "For leaving. For everything." Delsin shakes his head, pulls away enough to look the other in the eye, rests a hand on the side of his face.

"Just...stay this time. Just stay." So Desmond does.

Delsin is twenty five when he wakes up to the smell of coffee and a kiss to the side of his head, a hand heavy on his hip. "Hey," He murmurs and turns onto his back, pointing his sleep laced focus on a freshly showered and shaved Desmond. His hair was styled, pushed back to control the now wild little curls all over his head, a soft and private smile on his face. It's been a year since Desmond showed up in the midst of a storm, came back to their sleepy town and walked back into Delsin's life. A year since their hesitant and wrong attempts at trying to rekindle the originality of their friendship, since their fight in Delsin's little apartment, eight months since his best friend and boyfriend confessed he loved him in the quiet of Delsin's bedroom, six months since they moved in together. Now he can't think of life any other way, rising up so he's supporting himself by the elbow, Desmond's hand still on his hip. "I thought you'd be gone by now." After everything, the previous bartender decided he wanted--needed--to do something else that was a bit more stimulating, didn't remind him of the bad months in New York. He had an interview that day, his first serious one that required him to dress clean and look the professional part, though he didn't seem to have any issues with it.  
  
"I had a few minutes. Thought I'd say bye." Delsin smiles, accepts the other's soft peck and resists the urge to muss up his hair and drag him back into bed with him. He does it jokingly anyway, tugs at his nice straight shirt and grins when Desmond rolls his eyes and gives a half-hearted, "oh no you don't," as he pulls away with a final pat to his hip. Delsin decides to walk him to the door, goes through his checklist and throws his boyfriend a few random questions to get him ready for anything that might catch him off guard. Watches him fuss with his nicer shirt, his pants and runs a and over his carefully styled hair. 

"I'll call you when it's done. Hopefully with good news." Des leans against the entrance for a moment, and Delsin gets a flashback to words that were similar, to the weight they carried and the mark they left behind on their childhood. _I'll call you?_ He meets the other's eyes, revels in the steadiness of them, the sureness. There was no question behind it, this was not an unexpected farewell, and Delsin smiles as he nudges Desmond out the door. 

"Call me."

And Desmond did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I'd like to apologize for the large gap in updating. It at first was bc I posted this just before my finals prep, and once the finals were over, then i just kinda went lump mode lmao. I wanted to give it a really good end, because I really loved this short little piece and wanted to give it, and them, a good closing. I finally got around to taking care of the flaws and got it covered. So thank you to everyone who commented! I read your comments to motivate me, and I hope you enjoy this <3


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